Mrs. Dewar's 23rd Birthday

Jimmy's mother, Dorothy Herndon Dewar, was born February 29, 1916, which makes her ninety-two years old, but since she was a leap year baby, today is only the twenty-third time in her life that she has been able to celebrate on her actual birthday. On the years in between, we recognize February 28th as her birthday.

Jimmy has not been going out at all, but he did go to see his mother today, and he loved being with her. She had a very nice birthday: she enjoyed a birthday luncheon with friends and family at the country club, and got lots of cards and calls and flowers and balloon bouquets. Everybody loves Mrs. Dewar.

Cute old Jimmy pictures

It's a heavy burden to always be right, but one that Jimmy has shouldered with stoicism, so when he insisted that being at home would hasten his recovery, we all meekly bowed to his infallible wisdom. Although never one to stoop to smugness, he's had a distinct hint of "I told you so" in his attitude of late.

He's sleeping better and eating better, and this springlike weather has been conducive to puttering around the backyard and walking on the golf course. When we were in Atlanta, it was often too cold or too rainy or windy to enjoy being outside, and walking at the malls didn't work out very well. For one thing, it seemed foolishly risky with all the illness going around.

Hard-hitting flu is all over Valdosta, and Jimmy has acquiesced to my insistence that he stay at home and avoid outside contact. Boredom is sure to become a problem, but that's tough: he's grounded until it's safe.

Home

His mind was made up: claustrophobia had set in, and he could not abide the apartment for one minute longer. Such were his powers of persuation that Jimmy had Jamey and me out in the drizzling rain Thursday morning, loading all of our wordly possessions (in Atlanta, at least) into the back of our blue Buick van. We were going home.

We had managed to accumulate a fair amount of stuff in the eight months we had rented the apartment, and by the time we had piled it all in, it was raining in earnest; we had barely accessed I-75 at 14th Street before it had become a deluge. The entire trip home was a white-knuckled effort to avoid being blinded by jets of water spun from the tires of the endless procession of eighteen-wheelers.

Jimmy feels better already, sleeping in his own bed, and even though I feared that we were pushing things too quickly, I'm glad to be here, too. Jimmy has given notice to vacate the apartment, so when we go back to Atlanta in two weeks for an appointment, we'll stay at a hotel. But for now, there's no place like home.

We had an appointment with Dr. Lonial, and Jimmy's blood tests show that his counts are continuing to improve. We've passed the 30 Day marker now, and for the next two months, the order of the day is to get Jimmy healthy and strong again.

The 100 Day appointment has been scheduled for the latter part of April, and that is when we'll have some idea of where we are with the cancer. Another bone marrow biopsy will be done, along with a complete evaluation. We are optimistic that the transplant put him into remission, but we won't know until then.

Jimmy wants to go home, and I'm anxious about it: I have more control over him here, and I'm afraid that if he gets home, he'll try to do too much. And I understand that flu is rampant in Valdosta. We'll see.

Good riddance to the line catheter

10AM We were at the clinic at 9, and Jimmy has already had his labs done, and now we are at the hospital, at interventional radiology, waiting for Jimmy to have his Hickman line catheter removed. This is a tube that goes through his chest into his jugular vein; attached to it are three other tubes, or lumens, with clamps on the end: a red, a white, and a blue one.

An indwelling catheter is used for the various intravenous procedures Jimmy has been undergoing, eliminating the need to insert IV's into his arms. He has had it since last August, and it has been a colossal pain. The lumens have to be flushed daily with heparin to prevent clotting, and the dressings changed at least weekly. Since he has had it in for so long, he has become allergic to some of the adhesives and cleaning solutions, which have caused his skin to blister. We are thrilled to see it go.

Chemo brain

We're OK. Today was good, yesterday less so. Our days are very quiet. We try to get out for an hour or so every day, although it is taxing for Jimmy, but we feel the need to push him to exert himself. Nausea is still an intermittent annoyance, as is his lack of appetite and energy.

One of the more subtle side effects of chemotherapy is "chemo brain", a form of cognitive dysfunction, manifested in slight memory lapses and difficulty concentrating. The most noticible evidence of this in Jimmy has been that since he took the first dose of Melphalan, he has not read one book; I daresay not one page. He has always had at least one book on tap, and in the last year was often reading a book a day. He's improving rapidly, and in a few months will be completely back to normal, but is nevertheless frustrated that it isn't happening overnight.